when he faced danger. Now, like carbon steel.
At his side, he sensed the general’s alertness. Behind, he could hear the slight sound of the general’s guards moving forward.
This may be the most dangerous moment in my entire life.
His had been a harsh existence, filled with hard decisions. Now, Kungas made the easiest decision he had ever made. And, he thought, perhaps the best-certainly the purest-in a generally misspent life. He took some pride, too, in the fact that his own survival played not the slightest role in making the decision.
Which doesn’t solve my immediate problem. Keeping from getting my throat slit. No point in trying to pretend-oh, no, not with this general. Not with those men behind me.
Besides A rare grin broke out on his face. (To Kungas, a grin. No one else would have called it that. A flaw in the iron, perhaps.)
“So many women. Well, we’ll certainly have to make sure that they’re well protected. I shall instruct my men to keep anyone from pestering the prince’s concubines. From even approaching the howdah, in fact. Or his tent, at night. He’s a prince, after all, bound to be full of royal pride. I’m sure he’d be outraged if anyone caught so much as a glimpse of his women.”
Kungas could sense the quick thoughts in the man next to him. A moment or so later, the general spoke. Still, a trace of hesitation in his voice.
“An excellent idea, I think. Of course, your own men-”
Kungas waved his hand casually. “Oh, I shall give them firm instructions to keep their own distance from the howdah. I’ll do the same myself, for that matter.”
The general’s face broke into an odd, crooked smile. If there had been a trace of hesitation, it seemed to vanish.
“That’ll be difficult for you and your men, I imagine. That sort of self-control around women.” An apologetic cough. “Given the Kushan reputation.”
Kungas frowned slightly. “Reputa-?”
The general laughed. “Oh, come now! Don’t deny it, Kungas. It’s well known. You can’t trust Kushans around women, particularly young women. Especially virgins. Not” — a chuckle- “that there are any virgins left in that howdah.”
Kungas was still frowning.
“Such an act!” admired the general. “But there’s no point in it, Kungas, I assure you. Not in this crowd. Why, I remember swapping a few amusing anecdotes with Venandakatra himself on the subject, during our journey from Bharakuccha. Although, now I think about it-my memory’s a bit vague, I’m afraid. I was quite drunk, that evening. But-um, yes, now that I think about it, I seem to recall that I was telling all the stories. Odd, actually. It all seemed to come to the great lord as quite a revelation.”
Anyone in the world, now, would have agreed that the expression on Kungas’ face was a grin. The smallest, faintest, thinnest grin ever seen, true. But a grin, a veritable grin, it could not be denied.
“Alas. Our reputation is finally out. And we’ve been so careful to keep our talents hidden, all these months.” He shook his head ruefully. “Well, it can’t be helped. Everyone will know, now. Damn. Husbands will start watching their wives. Fathers their daughters.”
“Princes their concubines.”
Kungas glanced at the general’s guards. “Soldiers, their camp women.”
The general scratched his chin. “I foresee a scandal, I’m afraid. The talk of the caravan. Even Lord Venandakatra himself will probably hear of it. I can see the scene now. Kushan soldiers-ruffians, the lot of ’em, filled with unbridled lust-constantly surrounding the foreigners’ howdahs and tents, filled with so many lovely girls. Flies drawn to honey. Dealing brutally, of course, with any other men who should happen to sniff around.”
“We have a short way with competitors,” agreed Kungas, “when it comes to women.” Casually, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword, drew the blade an inch or so out of the scabbard, clashed it back loudly.
“Yes, yes,” mused the general. “Pity the poor Malwa chap who should just happen to wander by, idly curious about the women.”
Kungas shuddered. “I shudder to think of the poor fellow’s treatment.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the general’s guards grinning. The one who looked like a mongoose. The most evil-looking grin he had ever seen, for a certainty.
“Then, of course,” continued Kungas, “should any enterprising Malwa manage to slip through the Kushan escort and make his way to-”
“Oh, terrible!” exclaimed the general. His eyes squinted. His large hand gripped his own sword hilt. “He’d be butchered. By keen-eyed cataphracts or sarwen always on guard to fend off the endless, relentless, persistent hounding of their women by those horrible, lust-filled, lascivious Kushans. Ah, such a tragic case of mistaken identity.”
The general spread his hands.
“But, the Lord Venandakatra could hardly complain. He assigned you to escort us, after all. Probably-” here came the general’s grin, which no one in the world would have mistaken for anything else “-with that very purpose in mind. Making us miserable, I mean.”
Kungas nodded sagely. “The great lord does seem to be quite irritated with you. I can’t imagine why.”
The sounds of a caravan setting into motion began filtering down the line. Kungas looked toward the front- which, of course, was far out of sight.
“Well, I’d best be off. Round up my men and explain our duties to them. Very carefully. Making sure they understand what they need to understand, and not what they don’t. We don’t want any-ah, how shall I put it? Walking a tightrope can be done, so long as you maintain the proper balance.”
“Well said,” commented the general. “A man after my own heart. You don’t anticipate-”
“From my men? No, none. If I tell them to paint their faces blue and keep their left eyes closed all the way to Ranapur, well then- they’ll damn well paint their faces blue and keep their left eyes closed all the way to Ranapur. And be right fucking quick about it, and keep their fucking mouths fucking shut. Orders are orders. Obey. Just do it.” The iron face was back. “I’m not the man to brook insolence.”
“I can well imagine,” said the general.
Quite attractive, thought Kungas, that odd little crooked smile. He gave his own smile, such as it was, and departed.
When the Kushan was out of sight, around a bend of the road, Valentinian whispered to Belisarius: “That was a close call.”
Belisarius shook his head.
“No, Valentinian, it wasn’t close at all. I cannot imagine a world, anywhere, anytime, in any turn of the wheel, where that man would not make that same decision.”
The general turned away, headed toward his horse.
As he left, he muttered something under his breath.
“Did you catch that, Anastasius?”
The giant grinned. “Of course. So would you, if your ears were attuned to philosophical thoughts like they should be. Instead of-”
Valentinian snarled. “Just answer the fucking question!”
“He said: Only the soul matters, in the end.”
A prince and a princess
The prince relaxed. His fingers let the curtain fall back into place. The fabric moved but a quarter of an inch. He had opened it only the merest crack.
“He’s gone,” he said softly. The prince leaned back against the silk-covered cushions which lined the interior of the howdah. He blew out his cheeks with relief.
The four Maratha women in the howdah reacted in various ways to the news. The fifth woman, who was not Maratha, watched their reactions carefully. She had been taught that the ways in which people relaxed from stress told you much about them. Taught by a man who was an expert in stressful situations and their aftermath.
The one Maratha woman she knew-had known for years-clutched her yet more tightly. But, for the first time
